Lily POV
The kiss was a fiery, undeniable claim.
Jasper froze for a split second before his hands fisted in the delicate silk at my back, the knuckles white against the fabric.
He pulled me flush against his hard body, erasing any space between us.
His mouth devoured mine, taking complete control with a predatory grace.
The taste of him was dark and intoxicating, like expensive whiskey and raw danger.
A sharp report, like the crack of splintering ice, cut through the room. Julian had crushed a heavy crystal tumbler in his bare hand; blood welled between his knuckles and dripped onto the polished floor.
He surged to his feet, his face a mask of contorted fury, and took a menacing step into the aisle as if to rip me from Jasper’s arms, but was anchored in place by Vanessa’s nails digging into his forearm.
Even from a distance, I could read the venomous shape of the words on his lips.
“What the hell are you doing?” Julian snarled.
I peeked out from behind Jasper’s broad shoulder, catching my breath before I spoke.
I feigned perfect innocence.
“Why can’t I kiss my own husband?” I asked, questioning his explosive rage with an arched brow.
Jasper stared down his twin from across the hushed expanse of the room.
His voice was a lethal, quiet warning that carried over the hushed crowd.
“She is your sister-in-law now,” Jasper said.
“You will treat her with the respect of a Don’s wife.”
Jasper deliberately lifted his thumb and wiped my smeared lipstick off his own bottom lip.
He licked the red stain off his skin while maintaining dead eye contact with Julian.
Julian’s eyes turned bloodshot with murderous jealousy.
His hand twitched toward his suit jacket, reaching for his weapon.
Before Julian could draw his gun, Vanessa rushed the stage.
She grabbed Julian’s arm, digging her manicured nails into his sleeve.
She hissed in his ear, “Don’t be a fool. The allied Bosses and corrupt politicians are watching our every move.”
I watched as Julian scanned the dangerous crowd.
The rigid set of his shoulders told me he realized a public brawl would fracture the Blackwood Syndicate’s alliances permanently.
Vanessa smoothly covered for him.
She projected her voice for the front rows to hear.
“The Underboss had too much whiskey celebrating his brother’s union,” Vanessa claimed, flashing a brilliant, fake smile as if Julian was simply the reckless brother.
The Consigliere quickly stepped in to smooth things over.
He ordered the musicians to play and the entertainment to begin.
Before retreating down the steps, Julian shot Jasper a look that promised a violent Vendetta.
An hour later, I slipped away from the stifling reception.
I walked down the quiet, guarded corridors toward the VIP lounges.
Through a door left cracked a mere inch, I heard the sound of shattering glass from a supposedly soundproofed room.
I peered through the gap.
Julian had just shattered a crystal tumbler at Jasper’s feet.
A sharp shard of glass flew up and sliced a thin line across Jasper’s cheek.
A single drop of blood traced a slow path down the hard line of Jasper’s jaw.
“You were never supposed to actually take the vows!” Julian barked, pacing the room like a caged animal.
“And you definitely were not supposed to enjoy that kiss.”
Jasper stood completely unfazed.
He slowly wiped the blood from his cheek with his thumb, staring blankly at the crimson smear.
“If I shoved the bride away, the Syndicate would look weak,” Jasper mocked him coldly.
“Do you want a war with the Shaw family?”
Julian grabbed Jasper by the lapels of his tailored suit.
“You are plotting a coup to steal Lily,” Julian accused, his voice shaking with paranoia.
Julian shoved him backward.
“You are leaving for Europe tonight,” Julian ordered.
“You will deal with the Bratva. It is a suicide run, and you will not come back until I say so.”
Julian beat his chest with his fist.
“I am the true Heir! Lily is my property!”
I stood in the shadows of the hallway, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach so profoundly it felt as though I had swallowed a knot of cold iron.
I finally understood the ultimate truth.
Don Blackwood had decreed that whoever marries me secures the seat of the Boss.
Julian’s outburst proved what I had always feared: he didn’t love me.
He only loved the crown that came with my hand.
Watching Jasper wipe the fresh blood from his face, I flashed back to a memory from when I was eighteen.
My family’s convoy had been ambushed by a rival cartel.
A masked man had jumped in front of me, taking a brutal blade to the gut to protect my life.
I had always thought it was Julian.
But looking at Jasper now, seeing the way he stood and the way he moved, everything clicked into place.
It was Jasper who had bled for me that day.
The realization dissolved whatever twisted sense of obligation I thought I owed Julian, like salt in water.
I slipped away from the door, my mind racing with a new, dangerous plan.
I pulled out my phone and made a covert call to arrange a private sit-down with Don Blackwood.
I navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the estate until I reached the Don’s private study. The great oak doors, bound in brass, swung open to reveal the Syndicate’s patriarch enthroned in shadow. I did not waste myself on pleasantries. I laid before him the raw truth of his son’s tawdry wager, of his plan to abandon the Family’s sacred vows for a street-level fancy. In return for his blessing, I offered the Don a more suitable heir—one forged in silence and lethality. The old man’s eyes, chips of obsidian in a withered face, gleamed with a cold, calculating approval as our new pact was sealed in the gloom.
Hours later, I sat in the heavily guarded bridal suite.
I was lounging on the dark leather sofa, sipping a glass of vintage red wine to calm my frayed nerves.
The heavy mahogany door clicked open.
Jasper stepped into the room.
He had defied a direct order to fly to Europe.
He locked the door behind him and stared at me.
“Join me,” I invited, holding out the glass.
Jasper walked over and took the glass from my hand.
He didn’t drink.
His predatory gaze was fixed entirely on the red wine staining my lips.
His intent was crystal clear.
He set the glass down on the table.
He leaned down and captured my mouth.
But before I surrendered completely, I pulled back for one breath.
In the darkness of that bridal suite, I whispered against his chest:
“I already made the call to your father. The Don knows about the wager. He knows about Vanessa.”
Jasper froze.
“I told him you would make a better Don than Julian. And he agreed.”
His hand tightened in my hair. Not with shock. With recognition.
“You’ve been playing chess,” he murmured.
“No.” I kissed the scar on his jaw. “I’ve been cleaning the board.”
Then his mouth found mine again, and the claiming was absolute.
He backed me through the suite, pushing me from the living room until my back met the silk sheets of a bed supported on four massive pillars of mahogany.
His hands were everywhere, possessing every inch of my skin.
Right before the point of no return, Jasper suddenly stopped.
His muscles were trembling with restraint.
He hovered over me, his chest heaving.
“Tell me,” Jasper demanded, his voice a raw growl.
“Do you truly know whose bed you are in?”
I reached up and dragged my nails lightly down his broad back.
“Jasper Blackwood,” I whispered against his hot skin.
“My husband.”
A dark, vibrating growl ripped from his throat.
Jasper took what was his, sealing our bond in blood and passion.
And as I fell into him, one final image from my nightmare surfaced: the man who jumped after me.
The set of those shoulders. The desperate arc of that reach.
Jasper.
It had always been Jasper.
